Conduit
by latetothpartyhp
Summary: This is set sometime between Reckoning and Vengeance, but in a slight AU. Jor-El uses his vessel to guide Clark toward his destiny.


**Author's Note:** The pairing for this story is Chloe/Jor-El. The drop-down list of possible characters didn't include Jor-El so I wasn't able to list it there.

She was not the one he wanted, but she would do for now. All in good time.

Besides, she had beautiful breasts, with taut nipples made red from his lips and teeth and beard. They were round and heaving with her inhale and full and quaking with her exhale. Watching them, he wondered to what extent this plan had been inspired by his vessel. He did usually find this much flesh attractive, but it seemed, in this body, his tastes had changed.

He bent his head once more, causing her to make a high, whiny grunt. She was rubbing herself furiously against him, panting hard, and the breath required for the noise left her gasping. She sounded close to climax, a circumstance that was as fortuitous as it was surprising. He had not intended things to come to this. He was not entirely sure how they had. It had been a long time since he was fully sensate. That had something to do with it, he was sure. And she was young and passionate in the desperate way of young people, before they grew accustomed to and then bored of being touched.

He glanced up at her face. No, she was not used to being touched at all. She was blind as a new-born kitten, lost completely in her lust - she probably couldn't even hear herself making that odd, squeaking grunt again. She was very, very close now, which was good for him. In this body, it seemed, he was impatient. He took the hand fondling her other breast and wrapped the arm around her thigh and backside. Stroking gently, he found the entrance he wanted and, after circling the outside of it for a few seconds, plunged a finger into it.

On cue, her back arched, her hips jerked and her lips pressed together, forcing the scream in her throat out through her nose. It was a sound he associated with soldiers trying to hide their pain. It froze him for a moment, before her body swayed back and then crumpled itself over his chest, panting against his neck and twitching around his finger.

She'd been loud - not loud enough to alert the woman sitting at the desk outside the door, but loud enough for the boy to hear. If he'd been listening, and there was really no chance of that happening. Still, he himself would need to remain quiet. If the boy discovered them before the other pieces in this game were moved into place they would all walk away from the table empty-handed. He couldn't afford to give her time to apologize or explain; he needed the boy shocked and pliant, not stubborn and angry.

As she huffed he rose and draped her over the desk. If she noticed how easy this was for a man of his current age and build, she didn't comment on it. Due to her inexperience with men, or her experience with Kryptonians? The thought gave him an irrational twinge of annoyance and an equally irrational sense of determination: he would impress her in one area at least. Both were, he was certain, neurochemical reactions from the vessel.

Ignoring this body's emotional reflexes, he lifted her legs so her heels rested on one shoulder, opened his trousers, and began. As soon as he did so, however, he had to stop. It _had_ been a long time. He was not an adolescent, though. He had learned control.

The girl, however, had not. She was arching her hips up to meet him, bouncing her body against the pen holder and computer. She had no finesse at all, just greed, pushing and pulling at him until he grabbed her hips and forced her into a rhythm. She reminded him of Raya in her eagerness. Raya had been a sweet girl. So willing in every way. Such a good girl...

Her body began to shake beneath him. This time she lacked the forethought to smother her cries. To his ears they hit the glass around them like a mallet on a gong, shivering and echoing again and again. They must have registered with the boy even if he wasn't paying attention.

And with that thought, he came.

He allowed her a few moments recuperation in his lap. Fatigue was not a problem for him, of course, but would never do for her to stumble out on unsteady legs or with blurry eyes. It also gave her time to feel wanted rather than used, a distinction that was key to the fulfillment of his plan.

She had straightened her skirt and shirt, of course, but lazily. Her stockings were twisted and the pendant she wore, a large, gold, gaudy thing that had slipped to her back while she was on the desk, still hung there. He pulled it forward for her and something stirred in his mind. A memory, but not, he thought, one of his own. A memory of the man most people believed him to be. Not a memory of this girl, but of something else. Something ...

The girl sat up and the image he sought skittered out of his mind's reach. She stood and pulled on her jacket, which looked a little cock-eyed over her still-crooked shirt.

"Would you like to use the mirror?" he asked.

"Thanks. I probably look like a cyclone's carried me off to Oz. At least it feels that way," she muttered.

He smiled slightly. He thought it was supposed to be a joke, but with this one it was sometimes difficult to tell.

"Yeah... I'll just go use the mirror," she finished after a few seconds' silence.

She made her way to the toilet door and shut it, after which he heard water running and a few deep, shaky breaths. She had not looked at him directly since they'd finished, which for a normally forthright girl in this culture meant she was probably embarrassed or ashamed. Because of her past associations with his vessel, or because her actions were in opposition to her values? The morality of the town she'd lived in was one of the reasons he had chosen it for his son's home, so if she were to decline to see him again the irony would not be lost on him. He would prefer her cooperation, however. Kal-El had already discovered how he had taken one girl as his avatar to entice the boy to accept his heritage. As a result of that discovery he'd had to employ force, and the results of _that_ had been spectacularly unsuccessful.

No. Kal-El had to know beyond a doubt it was Chloe who had betrayed him.

The bolt to the toilet door turned and the girl in question came out. Her hair was calmed and her cosmetics were smoothed. She strode purposefully, but her eyes were wide. She wouldn't fool anyone with that walk, he thought.

"I appreciate - " she began.

""Chloe," he interrupted. "Are you alright?"

She hesitated, her eyes signalling surprise. She had not been expecting concern.

"I'm ... fine. I should really be going, though. My shift starts in twenty minutes."

He sped over to her, using the Fortress' signal to mimic the power of the yellow sun. She started - she wasn't expecting "Lionel Luthor" to be able to move like that. He ran soothing hands over her shoulders and felt her body relax, if not completely.

"I realize how disconcerting this must be for you, but before you go, I must tell you how happy it has made me." He lifted his hands to her jaw, tracing the bone of it lightly with his fingers. Her body tensed again with confusion, and questions filled her eyes. She had not been expecting this, either.

"When this man accepted my will and the knowledge I could give him, when he allowed me to be released from the minerals that contained me, I expected to find a completely hostile world. I did not expect to find anyone who understood the danger this planet is in, or the work that needs to be done to save it. I certainly never expected to meet anyone so lovely and generous as you. You were a serendipity. I cannot tell you how grateful I am to know you."

Her skin turned several successively darker shades of pink during this speech; a physiological impairment of humans brought on by excessive emotion. Embarrassment, pleasure, anger - perhaps all three. If so, it didn't matter, so long as the pleasure component prevailed.

"Mr. - " she began, obviously not knowing how to finish. He understood. How should she address him? Who was he to her? A member of the Kryptonian Ruling Council? The father of her friend? Her lover?

"Call me Lionel," he told her. "Using my name increases our risk of exposure. In fact, it is probably best not to speak of me to anyone, not even to my son. You know better than anyone the lengths some within LuthorCorp will go to obtain information."

"I understand," she said. She did not, but then he did not mean her to. "And I want you to know, I am ready to do whatever is necessary to protect _your__son_, but I don't think it's a good idea for me to be seen visiting this office again. It will raise questions."

"You're right. Gossip for a man in this position is inevitable and I would not want you harmed professionally, or in any other way, because of our relationship."

She nodded. Her lips were curved in what might have been a smile if her eyes had not looked so wistful, and he was again reminded of Raya. Raya, who had sacrificed so much so the House of El could survive. He what he could for her, and what a paltry thing it had been. He would have to do better for this one - Raya had after all known his objective.

He leaned down and brushed his lips against this new assistant's, lingering just long enough to convey regret. "I will contact you. In the meantime, remember what I told you earlier: the being you know as Milton Fine can take many forms. I don't want to make you paranoid, but you must be cautious about what you tell anyone from now on."

"Well, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you, right? Of course, that means I'll need to be careful about what I say to you."

It was his turn to be surprised. Yes, it was the logical conclusion of his warning - he just hadn't realized it himself until now. He chuckled over his annoyance, though - it was a feint that came easily to this body. "Another reason to maintain discretion. If it does not know of our relationship, it will have little reason to approach you using my appearance. However," he added, as if an afterthought, "you keep a meteor rock on you, do you not?"

"No. Should I?"

"Yes. Bring it to all your meetings with me. Don't say anything until you've seen the effect it has."

"Alright." She looked worried now, but thoughtful. It spoke well of her, he thought. She was not one to let her fears rule her.

He ran his fingers over her hair a last time. "Good day, Miss Sullivan."

"Right back atcha, _Mr__. __Luthor_."

When she had gone he sat, staring out at the globe spinning beneath him. She would be under it in a few moments. His son would probably visit her soon, as he so often did. Would he notice the smell of him on her or the small marks on her neck or the flush of her increased circulation? Doubtful, and in that uncertainty lay the problem.

None of what he had done today was necessary, and yet the boy had made it so. Until Kal-El learned to pay attention to the data from his senses, until he learned to anticipate his enemies, until he learned to appreciate the grace he had been given by this planet's star both he and the planet were vulnerable. He must be trained, must accept the need to be - and he would. His human father was dead. He would soon find his human friends faithless. His entire human existence would be revealed as a sham. Once that happened, Jor-El had no doubt he would finally do willingly the one thing that was necessary.

The girl, Chloe, he had in hand. The mother he could lure in the same way, and thankfully in the open. It was nothing for a powerful businessman to be seen in the company of a politician. Of course there was still the other girl to be dealt with, the one his son believed he loved. It was she he had wanted for this project, but circumstances had forced him to improvise, and now that they had he wondered if that had not been fortunate. Despite all evidence to the contrary, his son believed in his love's goodness with his whole being. Zod would be on the doorstep before he would be able to convince the boy otherwise.

Which left convincing the child to reject his son, irrevocably. That too might be difficult; if she was anything like Louise she would be quixotic in her desires. But if the boy hurt her badly enough, damaged her... An image of the necklace Chloe had worn floated before his mind's eye again, just before the telephone behind him rang.

The conference call on the Apex deal. He'd forgotten. He was tempted for a moment to let it go, but it was important, for now, to maintain his vessel's prestige in the world. He would have to deal with the problem of Lana Lang later.


End file.
